


As the Crow Flies

by raiining



Series: On My Shoulder [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Compliant, Supernatural Elements, minor mention of self harm, minor religious discussion, minor wing!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:18:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2367281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/pseuds/raiining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone needs a guardian angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As the Crow Flies

**Author's Note:**

> MASSIVE THANKS to OrderlyChaos for helping SO MUCH with this fic, and to Ralkana for doing a FANTASTIC beta job. THANK YOU WONDERFUL PEOPLE!

“What are you doing up there, kid?”

Clint looks down. He’s already pretty high up in the tree Barney had bet he couldn’t climb, so it takes him a blink to focus, but he can see a man watching him from the ground. He looks old, older than Clint's daddy is, and he’s losing his hair. He’s also wearing a black suit even though it’s Iowa in July. “Nothing.”

The man shrugs, unconcerned. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

Clint waits, but the man just tucks his hands into his pockets and leans against the tree. He doesn’t tell Clint to get down, or ask where his parents are, or anything, really. 

So, “I’m climbing,” Clint tells him cautiously.

“Why?”

“Because Barney said I couldn’t. He bet I couldn’t climb all the way to the top.”

The man nods, as if this makes perfect sense, even though Clint knows it’s something only a stupid kid would do. That’s what Barney had said. He’d said, ‘Only a stupid kid would do something because someone else told them not to,’ and then he’d run back home so that if Clint fell, he could say he hadn’t seen nothing and it’d be true.

Barney’s always been the smart one.

“So you’re going to climb the tree?” the man asks.

Clint nods and refocuses on his hands. He sees a good branch he can reach. “Yup.”

“Okay.”

The man doesn’t say anything else. Clint ignores him and starts climbing again. It’s getting more and more difficult because the branches this high are thinner, but Clint’s small for his age. He’s strong, too. Barney likes to climb, but Clint’s better at it than he is.

That’s why Barney had said Clint couldn’t do it. He’s just jealous. Clint will show him. 

His foothold is stable. He reaches up.

“Careful,” the man says.

Clint starts and looks down. He’d almost forgotten the man was there. “Why?”

The man shrugs. “That branch is loose.”

“Oh.” Clint reaches for the limb and carefully jiggles it. Sure enough, it cracks. Clint looks and sees a break running out all the way from the trunk. He searches around until he finds another handhold that’s stable. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” the man says.

By the time Clint climbs back down - the view from the top had been spectacular - the man is gone.

 

*

 

Clint’s older the next time the man comes around, but the man hasn’t changed.

“Hello, Clint,” the man says.

“Hi,” Clint answers. He chews on his lip for a moment. He knows he’s not supposed to let strangers into the house, but the man isn’t a stranger. “Do you want to come in?”

The man smiles. “Yes, thank you.”

“Okay.” Clint opens the door and the man steps in. “This is our house. You have to be quiet, though, because Mama is sleeping.”

“Where is she sleeping, Clint?”

“Upstairs.”

The man nods. “Is it okay if I check on her?”

Clint thinks about it. “Only if I come with you.”

The man smiles. He’s still wearing a black suit, but when he smiles he looks less like someone the government would send. “That sounds fair.”

Clint follows the man up the stairs into Mama’s room. She’s asleep on the bed, a lit cigarette dangling from one hand.

The man takes the cigarette out of her hand. He doesn’t touch her, but he sweeps a hand over her face for a moment. Clint thinks his expression is sad.

Clint leads the man back downstairs, where he runs the cigarette under the faucet before throwing it away.

They stand around the kitchen in silence. Barney’s outside playing in the fields, which means Clint can watch whatever he likes on TV. He turns to the man. “Do you like cartoons?”

The man looks surprised. His face scrunches up, like he’s thinking really hard. “I’m not sure.”

“We can find out,” Clint assures him. He goes to the living room and turns on the TV. “I like _Captain America and the Howling Commandos_. That’s my favourite.”

The man bypasses the couch, even though it’s for grown-ups, and joins Clint on the floor. “Why is it your favourite?”

“Because Captain America is a hero,” Clint tells him seriously. “He stops bullies and saves people, and his best friend is Bucky Barnes. I’m going to be a hero like him when I grow up.”

A shadow passes over the man’s face. “You will, if you grow up.”

“What?”

The man shakes his head. “Sorry. Nothing. I’ll be quiet so we can watch cartoons now.”

Clint nods. That shows good sense. “Okay.”

 

*

 

When someone knocks on his bedroom door, Clint looks up.

“Hello,” the man says. He looks the same as he always has.

Clint’s surprised to see him. He knows Barney would never let a stranger into the house. “Hi.”

“Can I come in?”

Clint glances around his room. It isn’t very tidy, and Mama always says tidiness is important, but Mama is downstairs and hasn’t come in here very much recently, not even to put him to bed. “Okay. We have to stay here, though, we can’t watch cartoons. My dad’s gonna be home soon.”

The man steps in. He leaves the door open behind him. “That’s okay. I thought we could stay here for a little bit. Just you and me.”

That sounds like fun. More fun than sitting here by himself. “Okay. Do you want to play a game?”

The man frowns. “I’m not very good at games. What kind do you want to play?”

“Captain America. It’s easy. I only have one action figure, but you can use this pop can to be Bucky Barnes.”

The man takes the pop can. It looks smaller in his hand than it does in Clint’s, but it’s blue and red and Bucky is blue and red, so that works out okay.

“That sounds like a plan. What about this dinosaur?” The man picks up Clint’s old Mr. Grr.

“That’s the bad guy,” Clint explains. “You shoot him from over there and I’m going to beat him up like this.” He attacks Mr. Grr with Captain America.

“Okay then.”

They play for a while.

“What’s your name?” Clint asks.

The man seems to have to think about it. “Phil,” he says finally.

“It’s nice to meet you, Phil,” Clint says politely. “Are you from the government?”

Phil smiles. “Sort of. I’m from the Government. Capital ‘G’.”

“Okay.”

Clint’s having so much fun, he almost forgets that his dad’s due home. He hunches his shoulders when the front door opens with a slam.

“It’s okay, Clint,” Phil says. His eyes are kind.

Clint nods, but he jumps when the sound of boots in the kitchen filters upstairs. He keeps his eyes on the floor after that and pretends that Captain America is his daddy. It’s one of his favourite kinds of make-believe.

Downstairs, his dad yells for his family. He says that they’re going for a drive.

“Just stay here, Clint,” Phil says softly.

Clint swallows. He doesn’t want to disobey his dad, because that makes things worse, but he really doesn’t want to go downstairs.

“Where’s Barney?”

“He’s playing by the creek.”

“Where’s my mom?”

Phil pauses. “She’s in the car.”

“Oh.”

His dad yells again. Clint can hear the fridge door open and close. There’s a pause, and then the front door opens. His mother laughs. Clint hasn’t heard her laugh like that in a very long time.

He’s scared.

The car engine roars, and then it fades away.

Clint looks back at Phil. “Do you want to play some more?”

Phil meets his eyes. “Sure.”

Phil stays until the police arrive. When the woman at the door asks if anyone else is home, Clint doesn’t have to look around to tell her no.

 

*

 

Clint wonders what he’ll do when he sees Phil again, what he’ll say. He’s figured it out now, but that doesn’t mean that it’s right. Or fair.

“Phil,” he says. In the end, despite the waiting, he’s still surprised.

“Hello, Clint,” Phil says. He’s smiling, but it’s careful now. Wary. “How are you?”

Clint looks around. He’s in the Big Top, waiting for Marni to arrive. “Okay, I guess.”

Phil hums. He puts his hands in the pockets of his suit. Clint’s pretty sure it’s the same suit. “Big show tonight.”

Clint nods. He raises his arms so the purple spangles hang down and catch the light. “Do you like it?”

“It’s very nice,” Phil agrees. He rocks back on his heels. “I understand you’re working with Marni tonight?”

“Yup.”

“Do you know where Marni is, Clint?” Phil’s voice is gentle.

Clint feels a sinking sensation in his gut. “She’s in her trailer.”

“Okay. Maybe you should go check on her.”

Clint swallows. “Is she okay?”

Phil’s eyes are kind. His eyes have always been kind. “She’s fine. You should probably talk to her before the show, though.”

Clint watches Phil. He doesn’t understand the rules of this yet. “If I do, will I see you again?”

Phil smiles. “Probably.”

“You promise?”

“I’ll tell you what,” Phil says. “If you go check on Marni right now, then I promise that I’ll come back and watch you perform one night, one random night, just to see.”

Clint bites his cheek to hide his grin. “Okay.”

Phil chuckles. “Go on, then.”

Clint runs off. He finds Marni in her trailer. There are empty bottles on her sofa and her hands are shaking. Clint holds them and waits until she starts to cry. They agree that maybe they shouldn’t do the paired knife-throwing act tonight, after all.

 

*

 

Clint knows it’s silly to hope, but he can’t seem to help himself, and two weeks later, he sees Phil. He steps in just after the clowns are done but before the fire swallowers arrive and he stands in the back with his hands in his pockets, watching intently the entire time. Clint grins and waves to him before he goes into the ring. Carson scowls at the delay, but no one else seems to mind.

 

*

 

It’s a few years before Clint sees Phil again. He’s been working with Trickshot, and tonight’s his first show as an independent act. Clint’s a bundle of nerves, and that’s before he spots Phil in the crowd.

Seeing Phil makes him even more nervous, but Phil catches his eye and smiles. Clint exhales. It’s okay. Whatever’s going to happen, it’s going to be okay. That’s good. He’d hate for something to ruin his show. 

Everything goes off without a hitch. Clint hits every target. He bows and the crowd cheers, and Clint sees Phil smile and clap his hands. He’s never seen Phil smile quite like that before.

Clint finds him later, just as the crowds are starting to leave.

“That was quite the performance,” Phil says.

“Thanks,” Clint says. He’s still buzzing with energy. “Do you want me to show you around?”

Phil nods. “I would like that, thank you.”

Clint’s careful to secure his bow like Trickshot taught him, and then he takes Phil around to see the different vendor stalls. “There’s dart throwing, and pistol shooting, and a dunk tank, and the animals, plus lots of little games and the Hammer of Strength and stuff.”

“Sounds impressive,” Phil observes.

“Kind of,” Clint says with a shrug. “Barney says the elephant is lame, but I like her. Her name is Betsy.”

Phil frowns. “I don’t know if that’s an appropriate name for an elephant.”

Clint peers at him. “Is Phil an appropriate name for you?”

“Phil’s a perfectly suitable name.”

Clint’s not so sure. Madame Delare says angels have names with lots of unpronounceable syllables in them, like _Abasdarhon_. “Uh huh.”

They wander around the circus stalls. People’s eyes land on Clint, but they slide over Phil, like he’s there but not really there. “Here’s Betsy,” Clint says when they arrive.

He shows Phil how to pat her trunk the way she likes and feed her snacks. She doesn’t actually like peanuts.

“I feel as though television has lied to me,” Phil says with a tiny smile.

Clint stares at him. “Since when do you watch television?”

“I’m trying to catch up,” Phil defends. “A lot has changed over the years.”

“Well, she likes cabbage,” Clint says, turning back to Betsy. “Don’t you, girl?”

Betsy snuffles his hair.

Clint laughs. Something in Phil’s expression softens.

“Come on,” Clint says. “There’s more to see.”

“Stay here for another minute,” Phil says. “Feed her another cabbage.” There’s a particular glint in his eye.

Clint glances at him, but he does as he’s told.

Halfway across the circus, one of the stalls gives out. It collapses with a muffled crash, and a few tourists scream. Clint hunches his shoulders instinctively at the noise.

Once the dust has settled, Clint looks over at the mess. It’s the popcorn stand, where Clint usually hangs out after a show. It’s lying in scattered pieces on the ground. One of the support stands must have rotted through. 

He glances back at Phil. “I should probably go help with that.”

“Okay,” Phil says. His eyes are sad. “Stay safe, Clint.”

 

*

 

When a few years go by and Phil hasn’t come around again, Clint starts to experiment. He climbs to the top of the trapeze pole and leans out as far as he can go.

Phil’s doesn’t appear.

Clint wonders what would happen if he let go. He isn’t desperate enough to find out. He wonders if Phil knows that.

“Okay,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

He climbs back down.

 

*

 

He really should have expected this. In some ways, he did.

“I’m going, Phil.”

“Clint,” Phil says, and he sounds upset. He looks the same as he always has, but he seems shorter now. It’s Clint who’s grown up and changed. “Think about this, please.”

“I’m _going_ ,” Clint shouts. He’s only been living on borrowed time, anyway. He should have died the day he first met Phil, when he stupidly tried to climb to the top of the apple tree like Barney had dared him to do. “Do you know what they’re doing? Do you? I have to stop them, Phil. I _have_ to.” His voice breaks. “He’s my brother.”

“Just be careful. Just - _please_ , Clint. Be careful.”

Clint tightens his grip on his bow and quiver. “You’re not coming with me?”

The expression on Phil’s face is bleak. “I can’t.”

“Okay,” Clint says, and rolls his shoulders. He should have known that Phil couldn’t come with him to face this. Phil’s already given him his warning - the choice whether or not to obey it has always been his own. “Okay.”

“Be careful,” Phil pleads.

“I will,” Clint promises.

“ _Please_.”

“I _will_.”

“Okay,” Phil says as he walks him to the trailer door. “Just – watch your left side, okay? Trickshot carries a knife in his left sleeve. Don’t let him get too far ahead of you. I know you’re going to try to talk to them, and that’s good, but if it comes down to a fight, promise me you’ll watch your left side.”

Clint catches his eye. “I promise.”

 

*

 

Things go south. Clint remember’s Phil’s warning and twists. The knife slashes along his ribs but misses his chest.

Clint has time to think _thank you_ before Trickshot reverses his grip on the knife and smashes Clint in the face. Clint grabs his nose and goes down, trying to remember every trick Barney's ever taught him.

He does, but it isn’t enough.

 

*

 

“Hello,” a familiar voice says.

“Phil?” Clint cranes his head around to look, awkward under the bandages and the casts and the hospital sheets. “You’re here.”

“Just for a visit,” Phil says. He steps into the room, hands twitching at his sides.

“A visitor, huh,” Clint chuckles. It’s a dry cough and it hurts, but it feels good anyway. “I haven’t had many of those.”

“I know, that’s why I – ” His face crumbles. “I know.”

A warm bubble of happiness blooms in Clint’s chest. How many people can say their guardian angel came by their hospital room to say I told you so? “Okay.”

Phil bites his bottom lip. He looks strangely endearing. “Can I get you anything?”

Clint tries to sit up. It hurts. “Is there water?”

“There is,” Phil says, and retrieves the glass. He also gets Clint a straw. “Here.”

“Ahh.” The cool liquid is the best thing Clint’s ever tasted. “Thank you,” he says. He can already feel his eyelids closing. They have him on the good stuff, which is stupid, because it’s not like he can afford it, but that’s a thought for another day. Right now, he’s tired. He wants to stay awake and savour the pleasure of Phil’s visit, but he can’t resist closing his eyes and leaning back against the pillow.

He does manage to wave his arm around until Phil catches his hand. Phil’s palm is cool, but it’s solid. Clint tugs it close to his chest. It feels better than Mr. Grr ever did.

“‘M gonna pass out now,” he manages.

“Okay,” Phil says softly. He stays until Clint falls asleep.

 

*

 

Phil’s not a regular visitor, but he’s there the day Clint decides to check himself out. “Please don’t do this,” he begs.

Somehow, Clint doesn’t think Phil’s talking about the casts he’s breaking off his legs. “I have to.”

“No, you don’t, Clint.”

“I _have_ to!” Clint insists. He’s had too much time to think about this. “They weren’t working alone, Phil. They had contacts, and distributors, and - and a _network_ , okay?”

“That doesn’t mean that you have to be the one to take them out. The police – ”

“They _bribed_ the police. I heard Trickshot and Barney talking about it. They bribed the police, and they had people who helped them, and I’m going to make them pay!”

“For what?” Phil argues. “For turning your brother to drugs? For turning him against you? For hurting you?”

Clint shoves his feet inside his boots. It aches, but not enough to make him get back in bed. “For everything.”

“That’s why you’re doing this, then - for revenge.”

Clint straightens. His legs tingle, but they feel fine. “Does it matter?”

“It _does_ , Clint,” Phil warns him. “Intention _matters_. There is very little in this world that is absolutely right or absolutely wrong, but causing damage in the name of personal gain…” He shakes his head. “It’s all about circumstance. Nuance. Perceived effect. If you do something for the benefit of others… that matters, okay? But if you do something like this with intent to harm, for revenge, or personal satisfaction, or financial gain, then…” He trails off.

Clint stares at him. There’s some strange new fear beneath the cadence of Phil’s voice. “I don’t understand.”

Phil looks desperate. “I’m telling you that if you do this, Clint, I won’t be able to see you again. I won’t be - ” He swallows. “I only protect the innocent.”

Clint bites his cheek. He thinks about it, but in the end he throws his backpack over his shoulders and shakes his head. “I haven’t been that in a long time.”

 

*

 

Clint looks up to the sky with blood on his cheek, and knows that Phil was right.

Clint had been innocent. He isn’t, anymore. The first kill had made him sick to his stomach, but the second had only made him gag. By the third, he’d almost gotten used to it.

That sickens him most of all.

He’s a little lost on what to do when the bodies stop falling, but, in the end, he can’t regret getting rid of these men, these bad men, who were into more than what just Trickshot and Barney could get for them. Clint discovers an underage prostitution ring and decides, in the heat of the moment, that if he’s in for a penny, he might as well be in for a pound. He rescues the kids and burns the network to the ground.

After that, he needs to eat. Several of the ringleaders had prices on their heads, so Clint collects the bounties, and then figures that since he’s already made a name for himself, he might as well make it official. He gets a darknet address and a secure email server and starts billing contracts under his old circus name.

Hawkeye. The World’s Greatest Marksman.

He tries to only take jobs that are posted against bad people. There’s plenty of scum on the earth that Clint can wipe away, but, a few times, Clint’s hungry to the point that his hands start shaking and he knows - he _knows_ \- that he didn’t look into things as closely as he should have. 

Those are the kills that haunt him.

He wonders if that’s the sort of intention Phil had been talking about. He figures it probably isn’t.

After a couple of years, he’s surviving, but he’s not doing more than that. Hawkeye and some other assassin, someone known as the Black Widow, are the two most guaranteed kills on the market. Clint has been injured a number of times on the job, and he’s almost died more than once, but Phil’s never shown up to say anything.

Clint doesn’t expect to see him again.

“Hello,” Phil says, sliding into the booth across from him.

Clint starts so badly he spills his coffee. “Holy fuck.”

Phil smiles. It’s the same small, crooked smile that Clint remembers, that on his darkest days he’d wondered if he’d dreamed, and, all of sudden, he wants to cry.

He gets it under control after a minute. Phil dips a finger in Clint's maple syrup instead of saying anything, but his eyes are as kind as they've always been.

“So what, uh, what are you doing here?” Clint manages eventually.

“I’m here to offer you a job,” Phil says.

Clint swallows. “With the Government?”

Phil makes a face. “Not as such. I’ve taken a leave of absence, actually. Just short term.”

“Huh,” Clint says. Phil’s eying his plate, so Clint slides it over. “What’s the job?”

Phil studies Clint’s pancakes before carefully spearing one with his fork. He licks it. Clint can’t help but track his small, pink tongue. “It’s with _a_ government, actually, just not mine. I have a friend who owes me a favour. A man’s going to walk into this restaurant in about ten minutes or so. He’ll give you the details.” Phil nibbles on the pancake.

“Should I take the job?” Clint asks, mesmerized by Phil trying to eat.

“If you want to,” Phil says. He chews, then makes a face. “Sweet. Not bad, though. Anyway,” he puts the fork down. “I’m not saying that this is your last chance or anything, this isn’t a Dickens novel, but I have gone to a significant amount of trouble for this, so - ”

“I’ll do it,” Clint interrupts.

Phil smiles. He looks relieved. “Good. Nick will be along in a minute. Enjoy your breakfast.”

He slides out of the booth and walks away. Clint watches him. A few minutes later, a man walks in.

He looks nothing like Phil. He’s tall, black, handsome in an intimidating sort of way, and he’s wearing a leather trench coat that reaches right down to the floor. His hand, when Clint shakes it, is warm. “My name’s Nick Fury. I’ve been told you’d be expecting me.”

Clint laughs. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess I am.”

 

*

 

Clint’s at S.H.I.E.L.D. for six months before he sees Phil again. He’s finished his intake assignments and has been selected for level three. Clint thinks that bullshit, his skills are level five at least, but Fury wants him to get used to working with a team.

The idea has merit, but he’ll never tell Fury that. It seems Clint’s forgotten how to work with people who aren’t secretly trying to kill him, but at least Clint’s already done some good on this team. Three of the junior agents would have been killed during the mission yesterday if he hadn’t stepped up to the plate.

“Phil!”

Phil stops looking around Medical and spots him, hurrying quickly to Clint’s side. Clint grins at him. He tries to wave, but something hurts. “Ow.”

“Yes, ‘ow’. You broke your radius, stop fidgeting,” Phil says.

“It doesn’t hurt that much,” Clint protests. “Look.” He waves his fingers around.

“Oh, no, enough of that. My goodness, how much morphine did they give you?”

Phil’s kind of blurry around the edges. It’s a little scary, but kind of nice. “So much,” Clint tells him. “So, _so_ much.”

“Uh huh.” Phil taps his IV pump. “I’m going to go find a nurse.”

“No! Don’t leave!” Clint says, grabbing wildly for Phil’s hand. His skin is still cool, just like Clint remembers. “It’s okay, you’re here now, so I know nothing bad’s gonna happen.” 

A crease appears between Phil’s eyes. “You know it doesn’t work that way, not any more. You changed the rules, remember? Besides, I gave that up when I handed in my notice. I’m stuck here now.” 

Clint peers at him. It’s possible that he’s too drugged for this conversation. “Stuck here? Like forever?”

“Not forever,” Phil soothes. “Just until, you know,” he fidgets, “you don’t need me any more.”

Oh, well, if that’s all. Clint relaxes against the medical bed. “I’m always gonna need you,” he reassures Phil, patting his hand. “I didn’t do so good without you there, for a while.”

Phil swallows. “Yes, well,” he murmurs. “You just sleep for now, Clint.”

“Okay,” Clint agrees. That sounds like a great plan, actually. He closes his eyes. “Are you gonna still be here when I wake up?”

“I will,” Phil promises him. “This time, I will.”

 

*

 

Phil keeps his promise. He’s always there when Clint wakes up. Clint’s not entirely sure for the first year if other people can see him or not, but as time goes on, he seems to get more solid. Eventually, Clint’s on an op that’s going completely pear-shaped, and just when he’s sure that this is it, he’s not making it out, Phil’s voice comes clearly to him over the comm.

“Hawkeye, take the next exit on your left. Go straight for forty feet, and then duck beneath the underpass. I’ll have a contact there waiting to escort you to a secure safe house.”

Clint follows Phil’s instructions almost without thinking about them, turning his stolen motorcycle left and finding the underpass and the contact waiting for him. He doesn’t think too hard about why Phil’s giving him orders until the op is done and he’s recovering in Medical, swimming back to consciousness after whatever the docs gave him on the flight back.

Phil’s there waiting for him, an official S.H.I.E.L.D. badge hanging from his lapel. 

“Level Seven, huh?” Clint as him blearily.

Phil gives him a tight smile. “Maria said the promotion is an apology for sticking me with Strike Team Delta full time. It’s members occasionally do crazy things, like steal motorcycles from random pedestrians and try to fly.”

“I totally had a grappling arrow,” Clint promises him. “It just… didn’t work so good there, for a minute.”

“A minute when you desperately needed it to,” Phil reminds him.

“Meh,” Clint shrugs. “I’m alive. So, ‘Maria,’ huh? Does she know who you are?”

Phil makes a face. “It is exceptionally difficult to make an entire person out of nothing. I had to insert a few fake memories, alter documents a bit.” He shakes his head. “It took more time than I thought it would.”

“That’s a ‘no,’ then.”

“It isn’t a ‘yes,’” Phil temporizes. “Maria Hill knows some things, just like Nick Fury knows some things, even if there is more that neither of them can recall. Nick, at least, understands the basics. Mostly. He’ll remember the rest eventually. Probably. It’s complicated.”

Clint relaxes back against the pillows. “Have you ever messed with my head?”

Phil reaches up and strokes Clint’s bangs out of the way. “No. You’re special.”

Clint will deny until his dying day that the words make him smile. “So are you.”

Phil shrugs, but his eyes crinkle fondly. They stay like that until Natasha wanders in, and then Phil drops his hand. Clint catches Nat following the motion. He wonders if he’ll give in to the urge to ask her about Phil now that Phil’s a permanent member of their team. He thinks he will.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Phil says.

“Briefing room?” Clint asks. “Oh eight hundred hours?”

“Only if you’ve been officially released,” Phil warns him.

Natasha shoots Phil a grin. “I’ll make sure he listens to the doctor’s orders, Coulson.”

Phil’s smile ticks up. “See that you do.”

“‘Coulson?’” Clint asks, when Natasha steps away to find his chart.

Phil shrugs. “I figured it was appropriate.” He shifts his shoulders, and for a second, Clint can see the shadowy edge of his wings. They’re black and beautiful, the rich, deep colour of coal.

“I think you’re right about that,” Clint says, when he can speak again.

Phil chuckles, and Natasha comes back. Clint waves to Phil when he goes. 

 

*

 

Clint wonders sometimes if Natasha knows. It isn’t obvious, not to anyone else, but there are times when Phil touches them, usually while packing their wounds on ops, when it’s noticeable that he’s different.

“You like him,” is all Natasha will say when he asks.

“I do,” Clint admits.

He knows it can never mean anything. Phil gave up his regular job for this, but it’s only a temporary change. Eventually, when Clint’s dead, Phil will go back to doing what he was doing before Clint needed him.

“Are you going to miss this?” Clint asks him one day when they’re alone. “Being here?”

“I’ll miss some things,” Phil answers.

“Pancakes,” Clint guesses.

Phil nods. “Pancakes are pretty good.”

“Is there anything you miss now?”

Phil looks at him. It’s the same look he gets on missions sometimes, when Clint has to duck out and do something dangerous. Clint can’t quite describe it. It’s a tightening around his eyes, a flattening of his mouth, a peering sort of gaze, but it’s more than that. It’s like Phil’s trying to look _deeper_.

“I used to be able to see,” he explains, after staring at Clint for a minute. “I used to be able to look at you, and see all the possible futures, all the cracks and dangers along the road. I can’t anymore.”

Clint blinks in surprise. “ _That’s_ what you miss?”

Phil cocks his head. “What did you expect?”

Clint shrugs, looking away. “I don’t know. Heaven, I guess. Or something.”

Phil smiles. It’s the same soft, gentle smile that Clint remembers from his childhood. “Clint, I left what I had for you. So I could protect you. I miss that I can’t do my job as efficiently as I could before.”

Clint has to laugh. “Okay, now _that_ I can believe.”

 

*

 

He wonders, sometimes, late at night, what he’d do if Phil wasn’t around. He doesn’t like the answers he comes up with. The good thing is, he doesn’t have to worry about Phil the way Phil worries about him. Phil may be here, but he’s not human. 

He’s safe. 

Clint’s not.

He knows that, maybe better than most. Still, he’d figured that when something finally got him, he’d _die_. He never expected _this_. He wonders if Phil had seen the possibility, back in the day, or if Loki really has changed all the rules. 

Clint throws himself again at Loki’s power, but nothing he does makes any difference. His body moves without his control, his analytical mind calculates scenarios while Clint rages behind blue-stained glass. 

Nock and release. Nock and release. Clint feels bile rise in his throat, but his body swallows it down.

There has to be something he can do, some way he can make the killing stop. 

Intention, Phil had said. Nuance. Clint wonders if this is his personal hell, having to watch helplessly while he does the things he used to get paid to do. He begs for help, offers to trade his life for theirs, for any of theirs - _please._

Nothing answers him.

There is only the blue, and Loki’s will.

When, eventually, there is a crack in that control, Clint pushes his mind towards it. Natasha’s roundhouse knocks sense back into him, shattering the last of the blue. Clint grapples for the edges of the real world and pulls himself through with an act of pure will. 

“Natasha?” he asks.

She hits him.

 

*

 

When Clint wakes up again, his mind is his own and he’s alone.

No - not alone. Natasha is here. Natasha is here and Phil… 

Phil is not here.

Clint swallows. That isn’t good.

“Where?” he asks, after Captain America - the real _Captain America!_ \- has come and gone.

Natasha’s face falls. “He went after Loki. He’s dead.”

Clint feels the bottom drop out of his world. 

He owes Phil... everything. Any good he’s done is because Phil had given him the chance, any joy he’s had is because Phil had saved him to experience it. From the branch in his backyard to the circus, Marni, the hospital room, and the diner where Phil once again changed his life, the only reason he’s here is because of Phil.

Now Clint feels like that first branch, like there’s a fracture running through his soul. 

Clint gives in and folds himself around the pain. He cries into it for a moment, feeling the bone-deep ache of the grief that he knows he’ll carry with him all his life, and then he takes a deep breath and pushes the horror away. He’s going to survive this and do his job, just like Phil would have wanted him to.

The fight with the Avengers is dirty. People are injured and broken, buildings are destroyed. Loki is captured, but he’s still breathing, and Clint wants to stab his last arrow through Loki’s eye. The pain he’s tucked away flares up again, a red-hot burning _need_ to make Loki pay. 

Intention, he reminds himself, grabbing hold of his control with both hands. Nuance. In the service of others and not for revenge. 

Clint calms himself as best he can. He has to be good now, he can’t give in to these urges, not if he wants to see Phil again.

He flies back to the Helicarrier with the rest of the Avengers and Loki in tow. Fury meets them on the Flight Deck with a pack of cards in his hands.

“Agent Barton,” he says, and Clint tenses. Around him, the rest of the Avengers do the same. “I have someone in Medical asking for you.”

Clint’s heart stutters. “How?”

Fury shakes his head. “I have no idea.”

Clint hurries to the medical bay, his feet pounding on the metal deck, ignoring the startled looks of other agents as he goes rushing by. More than one go for their weapons, but Clint knows that Natasha is right behind him, and the other Avengers are close by. 

“Phil,” he gasps, when he finally turns the last corner and sees him, lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by tubes. “How - ?”

Phil gives him a weak smile. “My temporary situation,” he mumbles beneath the oxygen mask, “might not be quite so temporary any more.”

 

*

 

“Mmm,” Phil says, licking ice cream off his fingers. “This is delicious. And there are thirty other possible flavours, you say?”

Clint grabs the Rocky Road off the hospital tray. “Twenty-nine after this one, but there are lots more than just those. Try this one next.”

Phil pops a generous spoonful into his mouth. “Mmmm.”

Clint chuckles. He wants to run his hand over the pink in Phil’s cheeks, but settles for brushing his knuckles along Phil’s thigh instead. Even though the thin sheets, he can feel the heat Phil’s putting out. “I know you’ve had ice cream before. Do things taste that different now?”

Phil nods. “Everything is just so much - more.”

“That wouldn’t be because of the morphine you’re still on?” Clint teases.

Phil makes a face. “Healing flesh the human way is so inefficient.”

Clint takes the spoon out of Phil’s still-weak fingers. “It’s all you’ve got now, boss.”

“Yes.” Phil watches him hunt for the perfect scoop of ice cream for a moment. “You know I don’t regret any of it, right?”

Clint shrugs a shoulder in answer. Phil has explained that he was offered a choice - his life for Clint’s, for a chance to break Loki’s control. Phil took it. Clint doesn’t understand why.

“You were in charge of me for a long time, some habits die hard. I’ll do what I can to look into it. I’m sure there’s some way I can - ”

“Don’t,” Phil silences him. He waits until Clint looks up and meets his eyes. “Please don’t. I don’t want to go back.”

Clint can’t look away. “Why not?”

“Because I never had a chance of having this before. I never - it would have been too painful to watch you continue to grow old while I stayed the same. It’s been so hard, these past few years…” Phil breaks off and frowns. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Stuck around someone for so long?”

“Fallen in love with a mortal.”

Clint’s breath catches in his throat. “Phil…”

Phil doesn’t blush, doesn’t look away. Even now, there are still some things about him that aren’t quite human. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I just want the chance to experience some of life with you. Some… real life, not just the glimpses I’ve managed to get.”

“You’ve always been more than a glimpse to me.”

Phil looks hopeful, so Clint swallows his fear and leans over to kiss him. It’s a dry kiss, a bare press of chapped lips, but it feels dangerously good.

“I don’t know if I get to have this,” Clint whispers against Phil’s lips. “I’ve wanted it for so long, I don’t know if... What happens if I close my eyes and I wake up and you’re gone?”

“Clint,” Phil says softly, his voice a promise. “Don’t you understand? I’ve already broken every rule for you. I’m not going to leave you behind.”

“What happens after?” Clint begs. He needs to know. “When you die for real this time? Please tell me you’re going to be okay and that you won’t just... disappear.”

“I don’t know,” Phil confesses. He tips his head forward so their foreheads are resting against each other. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, so we should probably make the best of what time we have.”

 

*

 

Clint decides that making the best of it means making things official, because he doesn’t want anyone or anything to come between him and Phil, ever again. They fill out the medical proxy form together first, and then the common-law relationship agreement.

When Phil gets out of the hospital, they get married. Only the people who don’t know them are surprised.

They don’t stop being S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, though. Phil gets better and goes back to work, bored with staying at home and itching to do something useful. “I’ve had a job of some kind for the past several hundred years,” he tells Clint. “I can’t just stay home and watch Supernanny all day.”

“Trying one of every kind of dessert on the planet _is_ a job,” Clint tries to convince him, without success. “Science depends on it!”

Clint understands, though. He joined S.H.I.E.L.D. because he wanted to help people and he still does. He could retire, but he doesn’t want to, not yet, especially since Steve and Tony have both offered him a permanent place on the Avengers team. He wants it so bad he can _taste_ it.

“Just be careful,” Phil says. “You terrify me, but I am so - _so_ \- proud of you. I always have been.”

“I’ll check my gear,” Clint promises, “before and after every op. No more jumping wildly off of buildings, I swear.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Phil tells him with a shaky smile. “Just make sure your team is around to catch you.”

In the end, Clint does jump off several buildings, but he tells Tony before he leaps. There’s still injury, and disease, and more life-threatening danger than either of them can shake a stick at, because Phil is eventually reassigned as the Avengers' liaison and he isn’t as good at staying inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. van as he should be. He runs the full gamut of human experience, getting shot, poisoned, and - on at least several more occasions before he retires - stabbed.

But they also drink coffee together as the sun rises, make love at midnight, and do the crossword puzzles together on Sunday afternoons. They try one of every new food they come across, and they travel for pleasure and not just for work. It’s not always easy, no relationship ever is, but they have an awareness of how lucky they are, of grace, that carries them through.

They live a rich, full life. And they live it together. 

“I love you,” Clint whispers, one peaceful day. It’s been said many times before, but it needs to be said again.

“I love you, too,” Phil whispers back. They’re both old men now, and tired. It won’t be long. “I’ve seen so much, Clint. So much. I want - ”

They inhale. Exhale. Stop.

“What?” Clint asks.

Phil smiles, and takes his hand. “I want a chance to show _you_ some things now,” Phil says. He pulls, and Clint follows him. “Come on, let’s go. I have so many things to share.”

 

~ The End


End file.
